Footprints in the Snow
by Symphony17
Summary: The Christmas after the Battle of Hogwarts, Angelina finds herself unable to let go of the carefree redhead who had taken her to the Yule Ball all those ages ago, but finds some unlooked-for comfort when she reluctantly decides to go Christmas shopping with her parents in Diagon Alley.


Angelina Johnson stared silently out of her window. Outside, the countryside was filling with snow, and she could feel the cold radiating through her window. Her head leaned against the freezing glass, and she stared over the snowy trees outside without really seeing anything. In her mind, she kept seeing a single face, that of a tall, red-headed boy, his eyes smiling with his face as he threw back his head and laughed.

A single tear slipped unheeded down her cheek. _Oh, Fred. I still can't believe you're gone._

She was startled out of her thoughts by a soft knock and the creak of her door opening. "Angelina? Darling? We're ready to head out. Christmas shopping. Would you... like to come with us?"

Angelina looked over at her mother, who stood hesitantly in the doorway. She hastily brushed the tear of her cheek and nodded. "Um, yeah, sure."

With a final glance out of her window, Angelina grabbed a coat off the end of her bed and then followed her mother down the stairs.

~ ~

"Diagon Alley!" Angelina dropped the Floo powder into the grate and shut her eyes as she was consumed by green fire. A heartbeat later, she clambered out of a fireplace and found herself in the midst of a crowd of holiday shoppers. Her parents had apparently been swept up by the crowd and were nowhere to be seen. Angelina's breath caught and her heart skipped a beat as a familiar panic swept through her. _Why are they all so happy? _ she thought to herself. _How can they be? Don't they know how many people will never see another Christmas again?_

Someone stepped out of the grate behind her and stumbled into the dark-haired girl. "Sorry!" a portly gentlemen exclaimed. "Best get out of the way, though. The rest of the family's coming through." Angelina nodded mutely and started to move aside. "Happy Christmas!" he called after her. She did not reply.

She took a step forward and was swallowed by the crowd, jostled from every side as people fought to get to the stores. Her ears were assaulted by cheerful laughter and seasonal greetings, accompanied by the usual "Dad! Have you seen our David?" and the like. Happy, smiling faces swam past her eyes, and it felt like a hand was squeezing her heart. Her breathing came faster and she whipped her head from side to side, looking like a cornered animal searching for a way to escape.

"Angelina? Are you all right?"

Her heart stopped; the crowds slowed; time itself seemed to stop. _It can't be..._

She turned slowly, afraid to break the dream it must be, because Fred couldn't be standing right there... Right behind her.

A warm hand grasped hers, and she was led out of the suffocating crowds. Afraid even to hope, her eyes followed the hand grasping hers, up the arm, to a face that made her feel as if she'd been punched. And then the red-headed boy holding her hand turned to look at her, and Angelina felt her eyes fill with tears. _No. Not Fred. Fred is dead. George. This is George._

Angelina silently let George take her aside, into a small nook away from the crowds, away from the noise. She sniffled and lifted a mittened hand to fiercely brush away tears.

George still held her hand, and she tried to pull away, turning her face to the side. Maybe she doesn't want him to see her being so weak, maybe he reminds her too much of the one who isn't there.

"Angelina..." he whispers. She sniffles again, and now the tears are coming thicker and faster, and then suddenly, the cold disappears. Warm arms wrap around her and now both of them are holding each other like they're the only people left alive, and in a way, they are. Now Angelina can feel George's tears as they soak into her hair and fall down her face to mingle with her own.

She has no idea how long they stand like that. Is it minutes? Hours? But later, they find themselves in a bar, sipping firewhiskey and leaning against each other, and before their glasses are empty, they're swapping stories of far-gone times, stories that feel as if they've taken place decades ago - and minutes ago.

And finally, sitting with his identical twin, holding an empty glass of firewhiskey, and smiling for the first time in months, even if it is through tears, Angelina finally closes her eyes and allows Fred's face to swim up from her subconscious. And she takes a slow breath, acutely aware of everything: the quiet hum of a dozen conversations around her, George's warmth on her left side, the warmth in the pit of her stomach that the firewhiskey brought. And finally she quietly whispers in the deafening silence of her own mind, _Goodbye_.


End file.
